


Crocodile Tears

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Homophobia, M/M, OOC Dean, dont cry man come on, fistfighter!Lucifer, hurt!Lucifer, lawyer AU, lawyer!Sam, m/m - Freeform, people being huge assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When little Sam and Lucifer are caught kissing in their neighborhood park, it sets off a chain reaction of events that changes the boys' lives. Will Sam and Luke be able to patch up their fragile relationship, or will these twists and turns send them careening off the rocks? Rated M for a reason. Samifer, homophobia, rated M for a reason. No smut currently!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crocodile Tears

**Author's Note:**

> When Sam and Luke are caught kissing, what will be the backlash?

CHAPTER I: In The Beginning

“Luke, stop!” Sam squealed as he ran around the playground after his best friend. 

He may have had long legs, but that sure didn’t help him catch up. Luke laughed, and only kept running faster. “You’re gonna have to catch up to me, Moose!”

Sam growled playfully and poured on the speed, catching up to Luke and tackling him to the ground, pinning Luke’s shoulders under his hands. “Pinned ya,” he said with a proud smile.

Luke shoved him off, sending him tumbling into the grass. “Bet ya can’t do it again!” he said, speeding off to the swings. 

They’d decided to spend the day at the local park (under Dean’s watchful eye, of course). The swings were a little rusty, the spinning tops just a little too fast, and the seesaw just a tad too squeaky for a ride. They went there anyway. 

It was a foundation of their friendship, yes. They’d spent many a Saturday on the swings, talking about stupid classmates and mean teachers and just their lives in general. They’d spent many a Sunday on the tops, spinning and spinning and spinning until they became too dizzy to carry on and fell over onto the rough mulch. They’d also snuck out on many a school night and gone to the seesaws, always whenever one of them was feeling particularly happy or sad or angry or just feeling strongly. They’d talk it out, and then cry on each other’s shoulders until dawn came. They hadn’t been caught. Yet. 

They may have been only nine (with Luke being just shy of ten, the bugger), but they knew that their friendship was something to be cherished. They’d met at a birthday party, when Sam was four and Luke was turning five. Luke’s mother, Naomi, had invited the whole street to come on down to her house for her son’s party.

He’d arrived there scared, clutching Luke’s brand new present to his chest with his still stubbornly chubby fingers. Dean had had to drag him up the Novak’s pristine lawn to even get him to the door. Dean still rubbed that in his face sometimes, the jerk.

When he’d gone in, his tiny jaw had dropped in surprise. The house was immaculately manicured, almost like one of those photos in furniture catalogs. The walls were either a white or a cream. He’d never been able to discern which. All the furniture was either a religiously polished leather or a glistening shade of black wood. Art Deco paintings hung on the walls. In other words, it did not look like the inside of the squat two-story home that it was on the outside. 

Luke’s mom, or Naomi as he’d later learn she was called, had invited them in with a stiff smile and a clammy handshake. Sam had instantly disliked her. She just gave off that vibe of creepiness, like Hannibal Lecter in that movie that Dean had let him watch. He wasn’t supposed to have watched it, but there was no reason to let their dad know that he had. 

She’d gestured them into their backyard, which was just as manicured and polished and fake as the rest of the house. In the back yard, there was exactly one thing that didn’t fit with the aesthetic of the house: a rickety old plastic table, on which sat a blank white cake. No decorations, no big stack of presents, just that blank white cake. And, of course, the boy sitting behind it.

The boy behind the cake had looked awfully lonely. He was wearing a starched white shirt, same color as the cake, and pressed black pants with shiny black shoes. He sat in the chair, stiff as a rod, or maybe a broomstick, waiting expectantly. When Sam walked into the backyard, he’d smiled as if to say, It’s about time. 

No one else was there. Yes, there were some other kids on the street, but Sam and Dean were the only two people to be in by noon, which was the time that had been on the invite. Right?

Naomi had lit the candles, whispered, “Make a wish.” in a voice as stiff and unloving as her demeanor, and stalked out of the backyard, leaving her son, Dean, and a very confused Sam to sit and make small talk.

He walked up to Luke, held out his present with his stubby fingers, and said, “Here.”

Luke had smiled, in only that small childish way that little kids can. “Thanks.” He’d said, not taking a moment before ripping into the Buzz Lightyear wrapping paper.

Luke had gasped when he’d taken it out, holding it up to the light as if he was checking that it was real. The shiny notebook, covered in stickers from various animated movies, had delighted him. “I love it!” he’d squealed, before pulling Sam into a tight one-armed hug.

“Alright Lucifer, come inside!” Naomi yelled, causing Luke (Lucifer?) to drop his smile.

“Yes, mom.” he’d said quietly, before putting down his present and heading for the sliding glass door. 

Sam had grabbed his arm with pleading eyes and asked, “Come to my house later? I’m just across the street.”

Luke had nodded, before tugging free of Sam’s grip and walking to the glass doors.

\--

They swung on the ‘big-kid’ swings now, staying silent, not feeling the need to speak.

Yeah, Luke had gone over to his house, the day after the party. They’d sat in his room and talked for hours; Sam talking about the movie he’d seen the other day and about how his dad was never there, Luke talking about how there was nothing to do at his house and how he wished his mom was there less. 

Sam had laughed, and cracked a joke about how they should switch parents.

Lucifer had turned on him, sharply, and said, “If you knew more, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

Sam’d gone quiet after that. They’d just sat there and stewed in their respective messes, until Luke had sighed, and gotten up.

“My mom’ll be home soon, I’ve gotta go. Wanna talk again?’ Luke had asked.

Sam had nodded eagerly. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” Luke had confirmed, before slipping out Sam’s window. 

They’d both been young, and most certainly too young to be sneaking out, but they couldn’t deny the bond between them. It developed, grew and grew until the boys were almost like brothers. They spent near every waking moment together. Even with their precocious ages, they treated their friendship as a starving dog would treat a bone: they got everything the could out of with, and with ferocious determination. It was a lovely thing, really.

Luke jumped onto the rickety swing set, pushing with his feet to get up as high as possible. The creaky chains jostled and shook under his weight as he went higher and higher. He’d nearly reached the tops of the trees when-

Swish. Boom. Smack. A cry of pain. “Ow!”

Luke had flown off the swings and landed, face first, into the sharp gravel beneath the layer of mulch. At the sound, Sam had looked up from his pursuit, only to see Luke fly right into his chest, knocking him down with a whomp! Whomp! CRUNCH!  
The two boys lay on the mulch, groaning and trying to untangle their disheveled limbs. 

Sam said quietly, “Why the heck’d you have to fly off the swings like that, Luci?”

He’d call Luke Luci ever since he’d found out his real name, Lucifer. It was an endless point of teasing and jokes for both, and it always brought a smile to Luke’s face.

Luke smiled. “Gosh Sam, I dunno, maybe gravity.”

They laughed as they got up, cracking their backs and stretching their now-sore muscles. Luke popped his neck, stretching it from side to side while Sam popped his back, bending backwards so far that when Dean came over to inspect the damage, he vaguely wondered if Sam had snapped his spine or something of that category. 

As Dean ran over to the scene, sam grinned. “Don’t worry Dean, nothing’s broken, no blood, we’re all good.”

Dean’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Oh, thank god.” He murmured. “How much longer you guys wanna stay?” 

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “A little while longer. Maybe sooner rather than later.”

Dean strolled away, shoulders pulling into each other in the November chill. Sam and Luke waited until he was out of earshot, then burst into raucous and uncontrollable giggling.

“God, you should have seen his face when he saw you cracking your back. I think he thought you’d dislocated it.” Luke joked, a playful smile crossing his face.

Sam grinned even wider. “I saw it, Luke. Trust me, it was hilarious.”

The boys brushed the mulch off their pants and began a slow path around the edges of the park, feet dragging in the muddy soil. The snow had begun yesterday, and even though most had melted into the soft, fertile soil, some lumps still remained tucked into various nooks and crannies.

Sam grew a malicious grin on his face as he crept over to one of the piles. He scooped a bit of the slushy snow into his glove, and silently tip-toed behind Luke. Quickly grabbing the collar of Luke’s shirt, he dumped in the icy sludge. Luke jumped and flinched, turning around as Sam scampered away. 

“You’re gonna pay for that!” Luke snarled, as the boys began their playful chase once again. Luke, being the taller one out of the two, quickly caught up to the shorter Sam and tackled him to the ground. No matter how fast Sam could run, Luke would always catch up to him. It was almost a routine, by the way that it went. Sam pranks. Luke chases. Luke tackles. Luke wins.

But, today, it was different.

Yes, Luke chased him. Yes, Luke tackled him. Yes, Luke won another prank-inspired race. But, something changed.

As Luke tackled Sam, the boys ended up laying lover-style in the snow. Sam’s coat was pressed into the mushy white powder, soaking through his jacket and hat and gloves. Luke was on top, hands pressing into Sam’s shoulders, knees clutching Sam’s side. The boys paused, unsure of what to do next.

Then, Luke moved.

No, not a movement of flipping the other boy over and nervously laughing it off. And no, not a movement of crawling off, embarrassed and shameful.

No, it was a movement of affection, a movement of tenderness.

Luke bent down and kissed Sam, full on the lips, like he’d seen it done in the movies and on the TV. He didn’t know what he was doing, and his teeth clashed against Sam’s a little bit, but it felt right.

Sam paused. It felt good, yeah, it really did, but what if Dean saw? Dean would obviously be against all of this, he was really too young, but he didn’t care, he leaned into that moment of tenderness like there was no tomorrow.

They may have been only nine (and one almost ten), but they knew there was no going back.

Luke broke off the kiss, leaning back in shock. “Oh god, are you okay? I’m sorry, I should just leave, I should-“

Sam cut him off, kissing him again, kissing him deeply, and Luke moaned. Yea, honest-to-god moaned.

Sam pulled away, obviously shocked by the sound Luke had made. “What’s wrong, Luke?” he trepidately asked.

Luke shook his head, smiling tenderly. “Nothing’s wrong, it just felt good. It felt like I should make that sound, so I did.”

Sam shrugged it off. At least he now knew it wasn’t a moan of pain.

They leant in for another kiss, but, alas, it was not to be, for Dean Winchester came bounding around the corner as soon as they came together in what would be their third and final kiss.

“Hey, you guys ready to – oh.”

Sam looked up, suddenly realizing who it was. His face flushed a bright scarlet, the vibrant color spreading from his already flushed nose to his already flushed ears. Luke looked up, and then scrambled to get off of Sam as quick as possible. Dean walked over to them furiously, the veins in his neck popping out from fury. 

“And just what the hell do you two think you are doing?” he snarled, rageful and disgusted.

Sam quickly tried to come up with something to say, anything to break the horrible awkward silence. “Listen, I can explain-“

“No, I don’t want any explanations from you, Sam. What I want is an explanation from little Lucifer here, who certainly seems to be living up to his name. What the hell did you just do to my brother?” Dean growled questioningly. 

Luke stuttered, obviously at as much of a loss of words as Sam was. “Dean – I mean, Sir – it was just-“

“No, you know what? I don’t want to hear any of your crappy excuses. I’d say see you in Hell, but I sure hope I won’t be there.” Dean said threatingly. “And if I see you near Sam here, well-“ He didn’t need to finish the sentence. The threat hung in the air, catching on the snowy crystals that had begun to fall from the sky again.

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm harshly, almost dragging him away from Luke, his best friend. No, now his – what? He didn’t know what to call this. His nine-year-old mind couldn’t process this.

But, unfortunately, Dean’s fourteen-year-old mind could.

“Now, Sam, you stay away from that little fag, you hear me?” Dean growled as he dragged Sam along the streets. The snow was falling more heavily now, and some new snowdrifts had begun to build up on the sides of the road. 

“Hey, did you hear me?” Dean asked, turning to face Sam and shaking his shoulders vigorously. “I said, if I see you with that faggot again, I’ll kick your ass into next Tuesday.”

Sam nodded. He didn’t mean it, of course. He be able to see Luke again, right?

Wrong.

Dean dragged him into their house, his fingers digging painfully into the tender flesh of Sam’s arm.

Dean dragged him some more, all the way up into his room, and let go, slamming the door behind him. His parting words were: “Dad’ll find out, you know.”  
He froze. Dad couldn’t find out. Dean wouldn’t tell him, right? They’d agreed on it. Dean doesn’t spill any of Sam’s secrets, and Sam doesn’t spill any of Dean’s. He hadn’t even tld Dad when Sam was eight and Dean was thirteen and Dean had raided the liquor cabinet when Dad was away and gotten stone-cold drunk. He hadn’t even told then. So Dean wouldn’t tell, right?

Wrong again.

He heard the thump of heavy footsteps going up the stairs, the the pounding of a large fist against his thin wooden door. “Open up, son.” His dad’s voice boomed. 

He timidly stepped up to the door, and creaked it open with a tremulous hand.

The door banged open, only to show one John Winchester behind it. 

John, as he’d begun calling his dad, was a force to be reckoned with. At an intimidating 6’2”, he towered above most adults, and all skinny, cowering nine year olds. His dark black hair shone in the faint light of the ceiling light, and his furrowed brow showcased the warm (or formerly warm, for they contained no trace of that warmth now) brown eyes he had set into his head. His scruffy appearance only added to the building terror in Sam’s chest. Oh god, what if he’d been drinking again, and Dean called him home, and oh god what will he do what will he do what will he-

“Hey,” John snapped, wavng his hand in front of Sam’s face. “You in there. If so, we need to talk.”

Sam brought his head up, nodding slowly. He could smell the whiskey, there was no doubt of it now. Oh lord help him if he could not help himself by this point-

“Listen, whatever happened at the park-“ John broke off, his throat choking up. Crocodile tears, Sam thought. Those were crocodile tears, as big of a show as John could have ever put on. If he decided to quit up with the whole neglectful dad schtick, he could go off and go get a job as one of thos ebig movie starlets in Hollywood. He may not have had the looks, but he sure had the talent.

“It’ll have to stop.” John finished quietly, adding in a couple of sniffles for good measure. “No son of mine can be – well, can be like that. I won’t stand for it.”

Oh, sure, Sam thought, you can’t stand for it. It’s not your life, why should you have a say in it? It’s not you who’ll be doing the do, so why should you be involved in who I do the do with?

“This is your one and only strike, Sam.” John said gravely. “Any more incidents like this, well, you won’t be staying in that cushy bed any longer.” 

“You’re grounded for a week, by the way. Just read some of those books you seem to like so much.” John added as he left the room, slamming the door behind him.  
Sam sighed, flopping onto his bed with a disgusted grimace.

For one, he’d liked it. He certainly liked it more than the wet, sloppy thing he’d shared with Becky Rosen, from across the street. She’d pulled him in after another one of their enforced playdates (that meaning that if Sam didn’t go, he’d end up with a sore bottom), and pushed him up against the rough brick wall of her house. She didn’t know what she was doing, yes, but that had gotten both of them chipped teeth and grimacing smiles. He’d pulled away first, and awkwardly explained that he didn’t really like her, or anyone else in that matter.

She sighed, and walked away, huffing and sniffling as if she was about to burst into tears. He would’ve said it served her right, but that seemed too harsh.

For two, John didn’t care if he brought a girl home. He’d seen Dean bring home plenty of girls, most of them two-dollar tramps that looked three years too old for him. No, it was the one time, the one time he deviated from John’s hetero plannings for his son, and then John sticks his nose in. No, not only sticks his nose in, he also forbids him to see his best friend, the only friend he’s really ever had. Yes, there were others, but they weren’t as close to him as Luke was. God, why did Dean and John have to be so bigoted?

He couldn’t answer that now, of course. It was steadily getting darker outside, the snow falling even more heavily now, blanketing the world in a coat of white that seemed too pristine for what lay underneath. He got up from his bed and stared out the window, looking onto the wintry white world with a murky stare. Then, he began to see something.

It was coming in his direction, no, towrds him, and it was bundled up tight as that kid he’d seen in the old Christmas movie John liked to watch. Ralphie’s little brother, yes, but he couldn’t put a name to it.

It came closer, and closer, and closer, until it was right to his window. No, wait, - he. 

Luke was at his window, tapping on the glass and grinning, beckoning for Sam to let him inside. Sam began to grin. Here, as always, when he needed him. 

But Luke wasn’t smiling as big as he was. “Your brother called my mom.” Luke said, voice as flat as a smooth-hewn board.

Sam’s smile disappeared, replaced by yet another grimace. “Oh God Luke, I’m sorry.” He murmured.

Luke’s eyes filled with rage. “Are you sorry? Really, are you? Are you sorry for this?” he asked with venom in his voice.

Luke began to unwrap his coat, removing it bit by frozen bit, until all he had left on was a thin white undershirt. When he peeled off that final pale layer of coverage, Sam gasped.

Luke was covered in bruises.  
They bloomed across his ribs and his chest, across his thin hips and his spine, they sprouted everywhere on Luke’s thin frame, covering his body in a layer of blue and black and purple that made Sam want to throw up. Or hit something. Or maybe both. He couldn’t discern which he wanted to do. Maybe neither.

“Are you sorry, Sam?” Luke asked flatly.

Sam came closer to Luke, tears springing from his eyes. “God, yes, Luke I’m so sorry, I didn’t think that Dean would ever tell your mom-“

“Well, looks like you thought wrong, huh buddy?” Luke smiled, before bending over and drawing in a ragged breath. “Sorry, it just, you know…’ Luke trailed off, not wanting to speak.

Sam controlled his emotions, pushing them down as far as they would go. “Luke, who did this to you?’ he asked calmly.

Luke wrenched away from him, flinging himself across the room. “Why do you wanna know?” he asked defensively.

Sam came closer, leaning up to him. “I want to know who it was, so that I can come over and kick them in the ass.”

Luke loosened up a little, letting out a small chuckle. “Well, that might be a little hard with the brawny one incapacitated.” He joked.

Sam smiled. “Now, get dressed. My dad might come up here and its better if he sees you dressed than sees you with no shirt.

Luke smile fell. “Right, right.” He muttered as he pulled on his shirt, sweater, and his heavy coat. “One last kiss before I go?” he asked teasingly.

“Why the hell not?’ Sam said.

The boys leant into each other once more, relishing the taste of the other as their lips touched again. It looked like the kiss they shared in the park wasn’t going to be the last one they shared, after all.

A long, loud, thumping sound began at the bottom of the stairs, causing both boys to look over their shoulders at the source of the noise. “You’d better go.” Sam said hurriedly.

Luke took the notice. He left through the window, leaving behind a trail of squished white footprints. Sam closed the window just as the thumping noise reached the top of the stairs.

Dean came through the door, eyes wide and searching. “I heard voices – you got your little fag boyfriend up here, or what?” Dean said maliciously.  
Sam shook his head no. “I’d better check the room, just to be sure.” Dean said, a mocking grin on his face. “Hope I catch the fag with makeup on.”

 

Dean did search his room that day, and the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that, until the game of ‘find Sam’s boyfriend’ became a game too boring to continue.

Dean and John mostly ignored him now, with sometimes a wayward glance of disgust. Sometimes there wouldn’t be food in the fridge. Sometimes there wouldn’t be food in the house.

John’s drinking only got worse from here on out, with near daily trips to the bar or liquor store. Sometimes they’d run out of money for John’s tab. Sometimes they’d see themselves in debt from John’s tab.

And the tab was where Dean came in. There were only so many ways a fourteen year old kid could make money, after all, and pool hustling was one of them. Dean became quite the expert, hauling in two hundred or three hundred a night. It kept them going, but that was as far as the cash flow went.

Dean had to watch over him. Maybe Dean didn’t like him, sure, Dean wouldn’t go near him with a ten-foot pole, but Dean still had to watch over him. He’d done it up until the day of the ‘incident’ with unwavering steadfastness, and just because Sam had some differing life choices didn’t mean Dean could quit his job. He just did it with a little more hatred these days.

And Sam, oh, dear sweet Sam, was all alone. He hadn’t seen Luke ever since the day of the incident. He didn’t know if he wanted to. It was Luke, after all, that had gotten him into this whole horrible conundrum. 

He couldn’t hate Luke, no, he couldn’t do that. He had know him for too long, had cared for him for too long, to be able to hate him properly. 

So, he just let him slip away.

He went through his years without a hitch. No one besides Dean and John (the term Dad had completely left by this point) and Luke and Naomi knew about what had happened at the park that day. He wasn’t too keen on letting the rest of the world know, either. A secret like that would have destroyed the family, put it entirely beyond repair.

The world wasn’t too kind about such things, it seemed.

He made it through middle school by staying low, making good grades. High school, the same way. Don’t draw attention to yourself, keep your head down.  
It worked a little too well. But so what if the teachers forgot about the kid named Sam Winchester, who always sat at the back of the class, never made noise, never put forth his opinion? He sure as hell didn’t care.

The only reason he was where he was now was because of a teacher. The one teacher who’d ever really noticed Sam, in fact.

He’d pulled Sam aside in his AP English class in eleventh grade, asked to talk to him when class got out. Mr. Wyatt had always taken more of an interest in Sam, even calling on him in class. Sam simutaneously appreciated and hated the effort the guy put in. Why would he bother?

“Hey, Sam, I wanted to show you something.” Mr. Wyatt said nervously, sliding some papers across the old mahogany desk.

He recognized one of the papers as an old assignment he’d done for Wyatt earlier in the year. It was an assignment on the court system, and they had to portray a fictionalized court case. He’d chosen Goldilocks and the Three Bears as a laugh. Goldilocks got charged up with breaking and entering, theft, and damage to property. She got ten years.

“This paper is quite frankly amazing, Sam.” Mr. Wyatt remarked quietly. “You seem to have built up quite a vast knowledge of the American court system.”

He shuffled slightly. What was Mr. Wyatt getting at?

Mr. Wyatt sighed nervously, pushing the papers towards him. “Those there are some college applications, Sam. You know, if you’re interested.” He added quickly.

Sam broke into a grin. “Lawyer, maybe?” he asked playfully.

Mr. Wyatt began to smile as well. “Why the hell not?”

 

Mr. Wyatt may have just saved him, then.

The one he’d applied to was Stanford. John’s only response to his son’s college dreams was a grunt and a “glad the fag’s leaving my house.”

He got accepted, hurrah, hurrah.

He left Lawrence. He didn’t really have any serious attachments, after all, and there were no sad friends or heartbroken boyfriends girlfriends to leave behind. He just pavked up and left.

 

He could attest that he enjoyed California much more.

The sun was bright, the waves were warm, and everyone was happy and friendly. Well, most everyone, but there were always some assholes in the world.

He’d gone into prosceution law, breezing through his courses with a 4.0 GPA and way too many cares for this world.

Along the way, he’d met Jesse.

He’d realized, along the line, that he wasn’t attracted to girls. Never had been. But, this way at least, he didn’t have to hide it.

Jesse was in the nursing program here, A student, quick wit, and maybe even smarter than Sam.

Jesses had always been open about herself. On the first date, he’d told Sam straight up about his previous identity. 

“Born a girl. Decided it sucked ass. Became a dude. That’s all.” She’d said bluntly, about halfway through their entrée. Sam had looked up, tilting his head as if to make sure he’d heard correctly. Jesse had smiled.

“Born Jess, if you’re curious.”

Sam had smiled. “I don’t see a problem with that.”

Jesse had smiled even bigger, coming around the table and hugging him fiercely. He’d told him, through small tears, that that was the first positive response he’d ever gotten from any of his dates. Sam had just kept on smiling.

They’d moved in together about six months later.

It had been four years since they’d become an item, almost to the day, actually. Sam had been dragged away on a trip to a case before the bar exam, as his professor decided that now, the week before the most important exam of their lives, was the time to take off on a cross-country flight to go see a rather insignificant case down in good ol’ Washington D.C.

When he’d come back, 3 days later, he didn’t have an apartment.

He didn’t have a home.

And he didn’t have a partner.

They said that the fire had been set from inside, likely by Jesse himself. He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe. Jesse wouldn’t have done that.  
He ended up crashing on his friend Brady’s couch for the next month. Sad and blubbering, he’d changed his study focus.

No longer did he want to do prosecution. He couldn’t stomach so much of the awful shit that people did. He just couldn’t. Not after Jesse. 

He’d told Dean and John, of course. Not even a goddamn condolences card in the mail. Fucking bastards.

He was doing defense now. He wanted to save some lives, rescue some people. Unlike the way that it’d gone with Jesse, he wanted to do some good.

He made a steady living. Put food on his table, kept his rent paid, even got a housekeeper in sometimes.

He had a nice, clean, stable life.

That was, until Lucifer Milton came crashing into his courtroom.

**Author's Note:**

> haha, don't hate me. please leave kudos, you lovely jefferson starships


End file.
